


Lost

by diaphanous87



Series: The Archer [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Actually it was the apocalypse, Archery, Cut off from Earth, Gen, Killing makes her puke, MGiT, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Non-Inquisitor OC, Original Character - Freeform, Other, and not human anymore, anyway, she's stuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaphanous87/pseuds/diaphanous87
Summary: The Earth was gone when it rained fire from the sky. I saw it before I was pulled between worlds. It was a swirl of red and green before I tumbled back down into the snow. By the time I got up to my feet, I realized that I was different. Everything was different.No amount of doomsday prepping could have ever prepared me for not being human in a world that was so terrible. But I had to survive. It was the only legacy left to me by my parents in an existence that didn't make sense anymore. I had to endure.BOOK ONE





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Dragon Age anything.
> 
> Anyway, first part of a series.

**BOOK ONE**

\---

**Lost **

\---

**_The Fallen World_ **

_Date: November 13, 2020… fucking Friday the 13th… what kind of bullshit..._  
_Location: Who the fuck knows…_  
_Time: Lost my watch, sorry, last time I saw was 1323… 1:23 pm for the normals_

\---

Fucking Doomsday preppers. Why did they have to be right?

My parents had been those people who prepared for the end of the world and what could come afterwards. Even if it was to an uncalled for extreme. It galled me to admit such a thing but I had no choice but to believe now. They made me learn how to live off of the land with just my wits, a bow, and a hunting knife along with a variety of other skills.

I hated every minute of that life. Blisters and bruises and cuts galore. Constantly pushed down and made to get back up. My only companions were my parents, the math I could do in my head when bored, and books. Not even a TV graced our home, just a single laptop that my father monitored with prejudice so that I could do my government required schooling.

However, as I looked at my fellow stranded, all of us transformed into beings from the fantasy genre, I was almost glad. The other five were freaking out, screaming about fire falling from the sky, being sucked up into the air, and their new features. I forced down the panic and horror, examining our snowy surroundings. My now elongated and pointed ears were perked up, which was the weirdest thing to feel ever. I narrowed my eyes from the glare of the snow. It was so cold that it hurt to breathe. I pulled up my woolen scarf further to cover my nose and mouth.

I was dressed for another cold environment exercise; so I was the most prepared for the snow. Thank fuck for my fur lined everything, from boots to overcoat to hood. I looked like some crazy hermit mountain man. But this was definitely not Alaska and there was no corrupted Aurora Borealis in the sky spewing fire and lightning. It looked more like midday in the Rocky Mountains than the daylong night of Alaska in winter.

“Hey!” I growled at the closest of the people I was with now. I was promptly ignored as the girl, who definitely looked all of twelve years old, curled up into the snow in a fetal position. “Oi! Don’t do that! You’re wearing shorts, you stupid shit!” And it was true, this girl was dressed for a Southern Hemisphere summer. I tried to grab her to haul her up but she started screaming with her hands clapped over her own newly pointy ears. It was obviously a complete meltdown. I took a step back. Then I looked up at the sound of punches being exchanged. A fight was happening between two of the males who were over eight feet all with gray skin and giant horns on their heads. God, we all looked like rejects from Tolkien’s books. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” I rubbed a gloved hand over my face. This wasn’t working. There was no logic to be had in this group.

BANG! The sound of a gunshot was unmistakeable. I dropped to the ground, hands covering my head. I peeked up to realize someone had killed themselves, a dwarf. Poor fucker obviously didn’t know how to cope. Hell, I’m surprised that I hadn’t started just screaming too. Thanks for teaching me how to suppress my emotions in an unhealthy way, Dad.

Now a new fight broke out over the gun. One of the horned males won and started shooting at the others standing. Three more fell to bullets, including the little elf girl who had sat up at the sound of the first gunshot. Now the gun was pointed at me.

I rolled to avoid the next bullet. Fuck! I staggered to my feet and threw snow into the fucker’s eyes. I scrambled away from him. He howled and waved the gun up, shooting into the air. With a click, I knew the gun was empty. I grabbed my bow from my back and lined up a shot. God forgive me. I shot him through the left eye. He didn’t even make a sound, the air just left him and he fell back. Dead in the bloodstained snow like the others. I pried away the gun from his dead fingers and shakily dismantled it. A dispassionate part of my mind rattled off the specifications of the gun model as I tore it apart. It didn’t matter because I scattered the pieces as I stumbled away from the scene, throwing them with as much strength as I could muster through my shock.

Five dead people thanks to one gun and two idiots and one arrow to put down the last. I leaned forward during my numb march down this fucking mountain, pulled down my scarf, and barfed my breakfast, just missing my leather boots. Tears blurred my vision and I knew that I was crying. God forgive me. God forgive me. I killed a person for the first time.

I didn’t know that it wouldn’t be the last time.

\---

**_Survival_ **

_Date: 9:36 Dragon_  
Time Passed: Five years after the Fifth Blight, two years after Arrival  
Location: Ferelden Hinterlands, Lake Luthias  
Time: Mid-morning

\---

High in a crude hunting blind up in a tree, an archer in roughly sewn leathers readied a shot aimed at an ambling nug. Intense gray eyes narrowed in concentration and she slowly pulled back her loaded bowstring. Her fletching brushed along her slightly scarred cheek. She exhaled as she let her arrow fly. The nug didn’t even squeak when it fell. The archer climbed down the tree to collect her kill, scarred hands steady and sure.

Brighid McCullough had a lot of new scars, accumulated after managing to survive for the past two years in this medieval world of magic and demons and crazy bullshit. She missed the Alaskan wilderness; it made more sense. Hell, she even missed her dad’s bunker of Doom. But it didn’t matter anymore. That life was gone, her parents were likely dead, and she was not human anymore. Brighid was alone and elfy. It was not a good combo.

Skinning and gutting the nug took almost no time. Brighid had had a lot of practice. She remembered the beating she had taken when she tried to kill a ram. Luckily her assaulters hadn’t raped her or killed her for poaching. A knife-ear, as they had called her, wasn’t worth the effort. They didn’t give a fuck about nugs so that was the meat she got to consume other than squirrel. Nug tasted like dirt and iron but she choked it down anyway.

She wrapped the nug in its own skin, left the innards that she didn’t want to the scavengers, and hustled up toward the abandoned cabin by the top of the lake’s waterfall. Well, she was squatting in the cabin, so squatters’ rights meant that she vaguely owned the cabin. Though Brighid never let herself get too comfortable. One never knew when the previous owners would come back to claim it. Best not to get attached to having a roof and a fireplace.

Preparing winter stores sucked but it was necessary, hence her increased hunting. This was the third time this week she went hunting actually. But there was a sharp nip in the air which meant that winter was fast approaching. She buried the nug meat in a barrel of salt that Brighid had finally managed to afford after selling off so much nug leather over the past couple of years. She prefered it to smoked nug which absorbed the scent of char too well. Salted nug still tasted like dirt and iron but with a salty twist instead of smoke. Ugh, no wonder all of those Tudor historical fiction novels featured heavily sauced everything when they wrote about the food.

Brighid would have to go to Crossroads Village soon for more elfroot balm. Claw marks on her forearm still hurt from her very brief run-in with a bear two weeks before. Thankfully she had managed to keep infection away. And she wanted to eavesdrop on as many conversations as she could to hear any news beyond the Hinterlands. It was how she learned so much about this place. A random elf was easy to ignore when they looked like they were servants towing baskets of elfroot along to trade to the healer for already made balm.

Tomorrow then. She would go to the Crossroads Village tomorrow.

\---

_Date: 9:41 Dragon_  
Time Passed: Ten years after the Blight, seven years after Arrival, three weeks after Breach Open  
Location: Ferelden Hinterlands, Refugee camp, Crossroads Village

\---

The healer of the village had died today. Half of her face had been melted by mage fire. Brighid felt helpless. She knew the Chantry sisters were scrambling to take her place, providing sucre and poultices and the Chant of Light. Mother Giselle was surprisingly kind and directed her sisters with an iron fist cushioned by velvet. Brighid did what she could, using what the healer had taught her in thanks for her diligence of providing elfroot and embrium over the years. She was no mage but she aided Mother Giselle as much as she could. And when she wasn’t helping the Mother, she was helping Huntsman Yuri bring in any meat her arrows could bring. The King’s rangers who had once upon time beaten her for almost killing a ram were no longer around to prevent anyone from poaching. Fucking rams were all over the place just like those rifts and demons and mages and templars. But it was getting more dangerous the further she hunted from the village and refugee camp.

“Stupid hole in the sky…” She muttered, a meagre brace of nugs slung over her shoulder. They were killing off the wildlife around the village too fast. Too many mouths to feed as more people poured into the refugee camp. Brighid and Yuri would have to go further afield, though she had a feeling he wouldn’t do it. The chance of dying was too high. And if they both died? Many of the refugees would starve if the cold didn’t get them first. Or demons. Or templars. Or mages.

Whispers of the Inquisition filled her ears as the she-elf entered the village proper. She dodged everyone in her path as she made her way to Yuri’s hut. Rumors that the Inquisition had set up camp much further up the hill south of the refugees and village spread like wildfire. And more rumors that caused greater fear than the Inquisition: mage and templar factions might converge onto the refugee camp and the Crossroads at any moment.

“Just three nugs today, elf?” Yuri said. He frowned hard. “Nothing else?”

“Traps were empty,” Brighid replied. She ignored the fact that he never used her name. “I had to shoot these ones after a bit of a chase.” She hung up the brace of nugs and started prepping them for the communal stew pot for tonight’s watery supper. Nug stew with barely any nug or anything else really, ugh.

Yuri scrubbed a hand over his grizzled face. “Damn.” He grabbed a bucket to gather the bones. “Everyone is going to die if something isn’t done,” he said to her in a low voice to prevent them from being overheard. No need to cause panic. “We can only do so much. These mages and templars are fucking up everything. Chantry isn’t doing anything, though Maker bless Mother Giselle for trying.”

Brighid’s ears drooped. “I know.” She sighed. “We have to go beyond the village perimeter. Hell we need to petition the king for aid. Something. Anything.” She grimaced as she placed the fully prepped nug meat into a great big pot that they used to make the food for the refugees. She knew they would run out before feeding everyone. “This can’t continue. The littles are starving and that’s the worst part of all this. Children shouldn’t starve.”

“I know, elf. I know.”

\---

Brighid screamed as a templar took a swipe at her with his sword. She rolled away, hands scrambling for her bow on her back. She let out another squawk of protest when he charged at her. The elf dodged again and lightning quick she landed a shot into his eye socket through his helmet slit. He fell only for a mage to take his place, throwing fire. “Seriously?! Motherfuck!” She rushed him, shoving her shoulder into her gut. Brighid hit her bow across the mage’s face, the bow version of a pistol whip. Before he could ready another spell, she yanked her dagger out of her boot to stab into his temple with a squelch. She gagged as she took out the blade. The mage fell dead. In her peripheral vision she saw others taking down mages and templars within the village proper of the Crossroads. Brighid saw the emblem on several of the soldiers and knew that they were the Inquisition.

“Brighid!” One of the village children, a little elfling, stumbled out from her hiding spot, wrapping thin arms around her knees. “Thank the Creators! You’re okay! I thought your goose was cooked!”

“Ellana!” The girl’s mother called in horror and embarrassment. She pulled herself away from her other children to grab the girl. “Brighid, don’t mind her. You’d best go get the blood washed off. Come Ellana, we mustn’t disturb Hunter Brighid.”

“It’s fine, Yinella,” Brighid sighed. “Listen to your mother, Ellana. The danger might not have been over when you ran out. Go on, now and help your mother.” She slung her bow around onto her back again. She grimaced at the feeling of blood drying on her face. Then she felt the stare aimed at the side of her head. The elf turned to her head to make eye contact with the elf mage that had been helping along with the Inquisition. She eyed him in suspicion but nodded at him. The strangely tall elf inclined his head at her and continued his healing of an injured refugee.

The little waterfall in the middle of the village was good enough to help with the removal of the blood from Brighid’s skin at least. She trudged over to the waterfall and stepped into the pond at the bottom. She shrugged out of her bloodied coat and let it plop down into the grass. The blood had even seeped through the leather and fur, damn it to hell. All that she had on was her leggings, boots, and her fraying, blood-stained gray tunic. She left her bow and nearly empty quiver on dry land as well. No one would touch her hunting implements. The people here knew that she and Yuri were the only ones providing what little meat was available.

Several others had the same idea to use the waterfall and were already washing. She was handed a sliver of lye soap and she used all of it on her face, hands, and hair. Her clothes were stained beyond saving now and she knew she’d have to make new ones. Brighid looked up when her name was called by one of the Chantry sisters who worked for Mother Giselle. She clambered out and shook herself, making sure not to get Sister Synalyn wet.

“Can I help you Sister?” Brighid asked as she wrung out her mostly clean hair, rebraiding the long, dark mass into an inverted French braid. She didn’t know what it was called here on Thedas. She pulled the wet braid over her shoulder and let it lay there, ignoring the cold nip in the air. She looked at the embarrassed woman who was wringing her hands. “Sister?”

“Mother Giselle wishes to see you, Hunter Brighid,” Sister Synalyn replied, darting a glance at other’s blatantly exposed elf ears.

Brighid frowned, knowing that she was being judged for her race. “I see. A moment, please.” She kicked her bloody coat into the pond. “Hey Merle, do me a favor and scrub that thing until the blood is mostly faded?”

Merle, a elvhen man of twenty summers, grinned at her from his spot under the waterfall. “Sure thing, Hunter. But you’ll owe me.” He bent down to grab the coat.

“You can have my dinner roll,” Brighid said airly. She ignored his whoop and turned back to the Sister. “Where is Mother Giselle?”

“With the Herald, Hunter,” Sister Synalyn scurried away after pointing behind her, her message delivered.

“Fucking rude,” Merle called out, scrubbing the much abused ram leather coat. He laughed when Brighid flipped him the bird.

“You know how the humans are, Merle.” Brighid waved and slung her quiver and bow across her slim back. She spotted Mother Giselle speaking with a human male in rouge-style leathers and armor close to the healing tents. Broad shoulders, trim waist, back straighter than a ruler, he was a human noble then. Duel wielder obviously judging by the dagger hilts poking out over his shoulder. Brighid definitely was not dressed or even dry enough to meet a fancy asshole with a fancy heretical title. But she owed Mother Giselle so she took her sopping wet self to the healing tents.

“Ah, Hunter Brighid, greetings. I am glad you are well if a bit… wet,” Mother Giselle said in rueful amusement. The Herald blinked his pretty green eyes at the sight of the small, wet elf standing before him. “I would like for you to meet the Herald of Andraste, Lord Alexander Maxwell Trevelyan of the Inquisition.”

Brighid, remembering her manners, bowed, the end of her long braid dangling in the air. “Herald Trevelyan, I am Hunter Brighid McCullough of Lake Luthias. Please excuse my… dampness.” She smiled unrepentant at the man as she straightened up. Shit, she’d be lucky if her nose was the same height as the space between his pectorals. Damn her short stature, it had been the only thing that had remained constant since her species change.

Trevelyan barked a laugh. “I don’t mind. One has to get wet to wash off blood,” he replied in amusement. “A pleasure to meet you, Hunter McCullough.” He inclined his head at her. He looked at Mother Giselle when the woman cleared her throat.

“Now then, I’m sure you are wondering why I have introduced the two of you,” Mother Giselle paused and smiled, “Herald, I wanted you to meet our best hunter, perhaps your people might have need of her skills and guidance for when you leave the Crossroads to Master Dennett's farm..”

“Mother Giselle?!” Brighid sputtered.

“Hush, child and let me speak,” the Mother said in gentle admonishment. “Though she tries desperately to provide our refugees with food with Huntsman Yuri VonHindle, he will not allow her to hunt beyond certain bounds because of the mages and templars. However, she knows this area well, probably better than many of your scouts. If any can get you to the farms with minimal fighting, it is she. Do you not agree, Hunter Brighid?”

Brighid frowned hard. “Yesss…” she replied reluctantly. “I’ve been here in the Hinterlands long enough to get to Dennett's farm and back without being seen.” She shifted her feet, scrunching her nose at the feel of her wet stocking clad feet within her soaked boots. “From what I saw in the few times I disobeyed Huntsman Yuri, there are more and more bandits beyond the river west.” Her ear tips twitched, belying her unease. “Wading through the templars and mages will be the hardest part unless,” here she flicked her gaze over Trevelyan’s stoic face, “unless the Herald clears them out first. Then there would be no point in me guiding them around the fighting.”

“We plan on ousting both factions from the Hinterlands,” Trevelyan said slowly. He cupped his chin with one of his broad hands and let out a hum of contemplation. “And sealing rifts along the way.”

“Rifts?” Brighid squeaked. She turned a panicked look at the serene Mother. “You cannot be serious! I can’t go near any rifts! I can barely get around them and the demons pouring out by myself!”

“Peace, Brighid,” Mother Giselle responded coolly in the face of the younger woman’s panic. “You will not be by yourself. And worry not about hunting food for the refugees. The Inquisition has agreed to aid us by bringing in rams from Dwarfson’s Pass.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Trevelyan said softly. “We do have scouts that were locals from this area.”

“Locals, perhaps,” the elf replied in an agonized tone. “But they probably haven’t been tromping along the wild game trails in these hills like me. I know them better than my bow. These hills west of here, when not filled with rifts and demons and crazy killers, were my hunting grounds.”

“And you’re not Dalish?” The Herald asked.

Brighid scowled at him. “Obviously not,” she snapped, ignoring the Mother’s look. “Haven’t got the tats nor the beliefs to even pass for one.”

“Fair enough,” he sighed. The tall man scratched his cheek. “Let me… speak with my companions.”

“Of course, Lord Herald,” Mother Giselle acquiesced. “Come, Hunter Brighid. I believe we can scrounge up at least a new tunic for you before I leave for Haven.”

“Yes, Mother,” Brighid sighed. She knew she was up for a scolding because of her tone in that last bit of conversation. Sometimes she was very tired of being an elf.

\---

Bandits blockaded the roads beyond the river west of the Crossroads. Brighid made a soft noise of disgust. She could tell they were not ordinary bandits. She was scouting ahead of the Herald’s party while they went to clear out the Templar camp. He and his companions had already cleared the Witchwood of mages before that. On either side of the blockade sheer stone cliffs, too steep to climb normally, made a natural funnel for any traffic headed for the Dennet farms.

The lady Seeker would clang too much for climbing. The dwarf of the group would have just as much trouble. Brighid wasn’t quite sure about their mage. What a mess. She didn’t have a choice. The little elf archer would have to clear the blockade. She blanched a little at the thought. She still had trouble keeping her supper down every time she had to kill a person. But Mother Giselle had requested she help the Inquisition and so help she would. Life debts were the worst. She frankly couldn’t believe she was actually willing let herself be in that kind of debt of honor.

Silently, Brighid pulled herself up the cliff on the blockade’s left. There were more trees to use a cover. Quiet. Quiet. She inhaled slowly, reaching for inner calm. These could not be people anymore. They were predators, dangerous to the people. It was her job as a hunter to keep people safe from predators. And then calm was achieved with a sharp focus. Calculations zoomed through Brighid’s head.

Once upon a time, her mother had been delighted with her daughter’s affinity for physics and the mathematics involved. Her father had used her abilities to make her a better hunter for after the end of the world. But they weren’t here now and nothing else mattered.

Below her a maul wielding bruiser paced in the middle of the blockade surrounded by two archers and a swordsman. It was the bigger target that Brighid aimed for first. A mantra of the bandit’s vulnerable spots in his heavy armor played on a loop in her head. She readied an arrow, pulling back the bowstring of her goat horn and yew wood compound longbow. The fletching, black crow feather, tickled her cheek. Time seemed to slow down for her. Brighid and the bow were one and the same, their target just another animal.

Inhale.

Exhale and let fly.

The bruiser dropped and panic consumed the dead man’s companions. The other archers below were the first to do something and fired toward her position. Brighid knew each shot would miss, seeing and calculating each arrow trajectory. Instead she took down the useless swordsman who had started running around the barrier of the blockade to attempt to climb up. And then she hopped to another spot, her leathers letting her blend in with the trees. The first archer fell, an arrow through his neck. An artery had been pierced with the shot, blood draining out of him too fast. The second archer turned tail to run. He got an arrow through the back, this time a lung shot through his own leathers.

Silence.

Suddenly Brighid’s killer focus melted away and she stumbled. Her back hit a tree trunk. She lurched away. She then vomited her light lunch, taking a step away afterward from her sick. Fuck, the elf was surprised she hadn’t puked all over little Ellana earlier yesterday when the templars and mages swarmed the refugee camp.

Focus! She had to focus and get down. She had to drag the bodies to the side of the road. She had to finish scouting to report back to the Herald’s own scouts. And then she could go cry alone hidden in the refugee camp.

\---

Anxiously, Brighid skittered away from the horses. The gelded chestnut horse that had been given to the Herald whinnied, blinking watery sad eyes at her. She stuck her tongue out at the beast and scrambled out of the yard.

“Hey there, peanut, don’t like horses?” The dwarf with the enormous crossbow asked when she came to a halt next to him. He didn’t seem fazed that he had been left outside with the mage of the group while the Herald and the lady Seeker went inside the Dennet’s home to finish negotiating for horses for the rest of the Inquisition. In fact, the elvhen mage seemed to be staring out into space, ignoring everyone.

“I’m not a peanut,” Brighid grumbled. She glared down at her fellow archer. “If anyone is a peanut around here, it’s you.”

“Height jokes already, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll think of a nickname for you soon enough.” He laughed at her grimace. “You know, never got your name. I’m Varric Tethras, storyteller extraordinaire. You?”

“Brighid,” she replied shortly, narrowed gray eyes staring down at him as if daring him to make a joke.

“Bride? You getting married?”

And there it was. “No,” Brighid said. She wrapped thin but muscled arms around herself. “No one would marry a hobo like me.”

“Now, now, I’m sure you’re very pretty under all that dirt and your hood,” Varric teased. He dodged a half hearted kick in his direction. “I see how it is, attack the poor innocent dwarf.”

“Somehow I very much doubt you are all that innocent, Master Tethras,” a dry, deep voice said. The mage seemed to come back from whatever daydream he had been in and interjected into the conversation. “Da’len, peace. I assure you Master Tethras means no harm.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Varric said with a winning smile. “Anyway, this guy is Solas.”

The newly identified mage dipped his chin in a shallow nod. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hunter Brighid,” he said. Clear lavender eyes stared both at her and through her, as if she was transparent. “We are grateful for your aid.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure the Inquisition scouts could have gotten you here just as easily.” Brighid shifted uncomfortably. She wrung her hands. “I owe Mother Giselle my life so when she asks for me to help, I will help. Simple enough.”

“Such debts are not simple by any means,” Solas replied, blinking his eyes into sharp focus and finally looking at her in full. “Surely she could not hold such a thing over you for all deeds she needs done?” A hint of anger colored his smooth voice.

She shrugged. “If you must know, I told her I’ll give her one more favor after this one.” Brighid smiled sharply. “I made sure she agreed. My life is not worth so much, after all, that I would indenture myself to her indefinitely.”

“Wise of you,” the mage murmured in agreement.

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short, peanut.”

“Not a peanut, dwarf.”

\---

“What do you mean she wants me at Haven?!”

\---

_Date: 9:41 Dragon_  
Time Passed: Eight weeks after Breach Open  
Location: Village of Haven  
Time: Early afternoon

\---

“I cannot believe I got talked into coming here,” Brighid muttered angrily into her tankard, long ears pressed back low against her skull.

“Still?” Varric Tethras, dwarven master storyteller of Kirkwall, laughed around his pipe. “Come on, Grumbles, it’s not so bad here.” The unlikely duo were sitting at a table in the little tavern closest to the fire.

“We’re closer to the giant asshole in the sky here than in the Hinterlands. It’s pretty bad,” she replied, sticking her nose in the air.

“Maker, did you seriously just call the Breach a giant asshole?” The dwarf chuckled. “Of course you did, Andraste’s knickers, girl. Don’t let the Seeker hear you call it that. She’ll throw a fit.”

“And stab your book again?”

“How does everyone know that?!”

“Because you bitch about it all the time.” She shoved away the dredges of her ale. “Ugh.” Brighid sat back and stretched up her arms. “Fuck, I wanna go back to my lake. All alone, no one up my ass, just me and my bow, and no undead.”

“Yeah, Fallow Mire was pretty nasty.” They both paused, contemplating the awful fiasco that was the zombie filled bog. “Anyway, how are you holding up?”

Brighid blinked and really looked at the dwarf. “Take it easy, Papa Worrywart,” she said drily. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who has to save the whole world, you know. You should worry more for Trevelyan.”

“Still, Grumbles. You go from a baby elf living on their own, to a hunter who provided for a shit ton of refugees, to Hinterlands guide for the Herald, to being stuck with us assholes since Mother Giselle insisted that you come here to help the Inquisition. I’m surprised you haven’t gone screaming into the night.” Varric exhaled a cloud of smoke, the scent of sweetened tobacco filling the air, mingling with the scent of the fire. “Frankly you shouldn’t have to be here. Or stomping around with Alex and us to close rifts and fix shit.”

“I only stomped around with you guys once to the Fallow Mire because Sera refused to go to a bog, the weenie, and Herald Trevelyan wanted another archer with him besides you. I was very tempted to shove Madame Snotty Mage into that fuck awful swamp, you know. Only a moron skips along into a bog wearing fucking heels. I would have preferred Solas to go with us but he was too busying working with Adan. And I’m not a baby. I’m twenty-five years old.”

“Heh, so young, Maker forgive us.” He shook his head when she glared hotly at him. “Still, that would have been funny to see. Her Magic Fanciness flailing around in the mud.” Varric sighed. “Grumbles, I’m serious. You’re too nice. Should have told Giselle to shove it when she practically had you dragged here.” He frowned and squinted at her. “For someone so cranky, you really can’t say no to helping, can you?”

“Shhh… don’t be shouting my secret niceness to the world, dwarf.”

Varric smiled, crinkles gathering at the outer corners of his eyes. “Sure thing, Grumbles. Your secret niceness is safe with me.” He laughed at her disbelief. “Trust me when I say this… you’re fucking transparent. Everyone and their grandma knows you got a soft spot for us.”

“Only because you’re the sad sacks that at least have the inclination to fix this ridiculous mess that the templars and mages and Chantry made.”

“Pity, huh? I can work with that.”

\---

“Ah, there you are,” Trevelyan said, eyeing the elf perched on one of the mabari statues guarding the stairs leading up to the middle of Haven.

“Lord Herald,” Brighid intoned, looking down from between the statue’s ears. “How can I help you?”

“I wish to speak to our illustrious lady Hunter. Please, come down from there before one of our Fereldan friends decides that where you decided to park your sweet self is offensive.” He grinned at her as she rolled her eyes. “Do you need me to catch you?” The brunet Free-Marcher laughed when she slid down the statue’s back, completely ignoring his suggestion. “Hullo Brighid.”

“Sup?”

“Hmm? It’s not quite supper yet, no.”

Brighid rolled her eyes again. “No, what’s up? And do not say the sky or the Breach or anything that flies.” She made a noise of disgust when he laughed again. “Herald Trevelyan, is there a reason you needed me?”

“Walk with me?”

“Do I got a choice?”

The Herald sobered, his thick eyebrows angled down. “You always have a choice, Brighid,” he said softly. “I would not take that from you.”

“You know… most humans aren’t as nice as you are to elves. Most would be treating me like a servant or worse.”

“I know.” Alexander Trevelyan rocked back on his heels. “So yea or nay, walk with me?”

“Sure, why not?” She trotted along after him as the Herald took off for the gates. “Oi, longshanks, slow it,” she snapped. Christ, she was sounding more Ferelden by the day the more time she spent here surrounded by the people of this world.

“Ah! My apologies,” he replied sheepishly. He shortened his strides accordingly. “Anyway, I find it curious that according to Leliana, you had no history before you appeared in the Hinterlands seven years ago…” They passed by the Chargers and Cassandra beating up training dummies, and headed straight for the large pond beyond the training field.

Brighid stumbled but schooled her face when the older rogue turned to glance at her. “That’s because I have nothing beyond my bow and the clothes on my back,” she said. “Hell, I was just squatting at that cabin on the lake until this shit war started. Stayed and helped with the refugees since I had the ability to do so.” She smiled wanly, knowing there was no escape but also knowing she couldn’t say that she wasn’t a native of Thedas either. That was a one way ticket to the Chantry dungeon and torture.

“No family? No home?” Trevelyan asked as they stood at the dock, both staring at the frozen water of the overly large not quite a lake.

“They’re gone,” she replied, sticking as close to the truth as possible. “There was fire, no one left. Ended up lost in the Frostbacks though I don’t remember where in these mountains. Stumbled down to the Hinterlands alone, almost dead. Nearly got killed again because I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to hunt the king’s rams. Stupid rule. The old healer, the one who got killed by a mage before your lot came, made sure I wasn’t too bad off. I traded elfroot and embrium to her for lessons on herbalism and healing balms. She was kind, despite me being an elf. Didn’t deserve to have her face melted off.” Don’t cry, damn.

“No… no one deserves that,” the Herald said. “I have to make sure, you understand? Something told me you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Brighid looked at him with her sharp gray eyes, the pale shade almost unnervingly bright. “You’re saving our asses from a huge demon hole in the sky. If anyone deserves the truth, it’s probably you.” Just not the fact that she was from another world because there was no use in opening that can of worms.

“Did your village have a name?” He looked a bit flustered and hurried to change the subject.

“Didn’t live in a village. Dad didn’t like people and Mom went along with it. More worried about a possible end of the world. Doomsday preppers of the worst kind.”

“Doomsday preppers?” Trevelyan raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar words.

“Ugh, they thought the world could end at any moment.” She nodded in the direction of the Breach. “If they had lived to see that mess up there, Dad would have been boasting about how he was right and that it was the end of times and only we would survive because we were prepared. Load of horseshit. He was kinda crazy. I’m amazed I turned out so normal in comparison.”

He laughed and tried to smother it. “Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” he struggled to say through his hand.

“I will say what I please. My dad was a nutter but he made sure I knew how to survive with whatever I could scrounge up.” She shrugged. “Any other questions?”

“No, friend. You’re surprisingly forthright. But Leliana will probably still have people watching you.”

“Yeah, I spotted them.” Brighid pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, deadpan expression on her face.

Trevelyan guffawed, slapping his knee. “Maker’s breath!” He exclaimed. “I’ll let her know she needs to improve their training.”

“It’s the ears. They’re sharp in more than their shape.”

\---

“So are you gonna fuck Buckles?” Sera roughly draped herself over Brighid’s back. Once again they were in the tavern, this time of all three of Trevelyan’s rogue companions sitting together for dinner. Though the younger of the elves was quite drunk considering most of her supper was booze.

“I beg your pardon?!’ Brighid shoved off the other she-elf, glaring invisible daggers at the screeching laughter coming up from the felled blonde.

“I said…”

“I know what you said!” The brunette of the two snarled. She aimed a kick at Sera who just simply rolled away, still laughing and uncaring of the filthy floor.

“Why can’t you elves ever get along?” Varric bemoaned. He shoved a piece of his bread into his mouth at the scorching glare aimed his way. He swallowed and leaned back. “Whew, I thought I was gonna die from that look alone. You’re gonna give the Seeker a run for her money.”

“Eat me,” Brighid ground out from behind clenched teeth.

“When and where?!” Sera popped up, eyes lit up in glee.

“Not you, you mad woman.”

“Ouch, that hurt!”

“Oh no, your one feeling. My apologies,” Brighid said in a voice as dry as any desert. Sera just cackled and bolted down the rest of her ale. “You’re an animal, woman. Have some manners, you dribbled. What a waste of ale.”

“You eat me!” Sera lobbed her tankard at the other’s head. She laughed as Brighid simply cocked her head to avoid it. “Nice!” And then the blonde suddenly tipped forward, smashing her forehead to the table. Snores filled the air.

“Maker, she’s out like a light,” Varric grumbled.

“About time,” Brighid said with a huff. She poked Sera’s puffed out cheek. “Gone to la-la land, she has. Now we can have some peace.”

“Relatively speaking at any rate,” Varric agreed, sipping his whiskey.

The peace, such as it was, would not last that long.

\---  
  
**End of Part One**


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